Firecracker
by Juulna
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is an Omega, First Son of the United States of America, U.S. Marine. And, apparently, a taken man from the moment Steven Grant Rogers takes his first breath in the 21st century. / This could all have been avoided, really, if someone had paid more attention to the binding legality of a presidential boon. (YES, Steve, I'm looking at you, you stupid knothead.)
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** Hi! This is Juulna here, but this fic is co-written with the lovely and gracious Annaelle. She's my long-suffering beta, and agreed to put up with me even more just to co-write this with me. I'm so excited to collaborate on this with her (vs me writing the bulk and her bailing me out when I get stuck) and I don't think it'll be too long before we have another chapter for you!

This fic is a holiday promise I made to one of my best friends, kocuria, back in December. It's a gift for her, and she wanted something Shrunkyclunks + political + arranged marriage, and boy did I have fun figuring out what to do with this prompt! I hope you like it, my lovely friend. Know that whatever we might go through, I'll always be there for and love you, ko. Much, much love, you beautiful soul.

* * *

~by Juulna & Cuthian~**  
**_~for kocuria~_

**"[He] was like twirling a lit firecracker between your fingers. **  
**You kind of knew it was going to hurt when it exploded, but playing with it made your heart race with excitement."**  
― _Cynthia D'Alba_

* * *

_'The Rising Role of Children in Presidential Elections'_ by M.S. Bloom, The New York Times, August 29th, 2008

In the wake of yesterday's Democratic National Convention, the easy thing to do would be to write about Winifred Barnes' historic nomination as the 2008 Democratic Party candidate. Our very own two-term New York Governor.

But articles such as that are a dime a dozen today.

No, instead I find myself wanting to write about James Barnes, Governor Barnes' only child. Throughout the campaign trail, he has stood staunchly by his mother's side—even when separated physically due to his career—to the point where we as a people have become used to seeing him everywhere she can be found. We have heard it all before, and so, in a way, that makes us more likely to _not_ know who exactly James Buchanan Barnes is, much as that might seem inconceivable for the son of a presidential candidate. It has reached the saturation point where we think we know all there is to know, and yet, truly, we do not. So thus I have chosen to delve deep and offer the facts—_and_ yes, some opinions—on this steadfast man, so that we all may better know who it is that has our Presidential hopeful's ear—and heart.

Now bear with me, faithful column readers, as I repeat what we all 'know'.

James Buchanan Barnes, often called "Bucky" by this younger generation, is the only son of Winifred Hubbard and her husband, Captain George Barnes, who was lost while serving as part of the Lebanon Peacekeeping mission shortly after James' birth on March 10th, 1982.

Winifred Barnes dedicated her fortune, left to her by two generations of Hubbards and Barneses both, to the continuation of the Omega Rights Movement her own mother had helped to kickstart in the years immediately after WWII.

Bucky, an Omega like his mother and her mother before her, was expected to follow in her footsteps, to help advocate for the minority group which comprises less than 1% of our worldwide population (and shrinking, with alphas sitting at 3.5% and also shrinking). However, Winifred Barnes' sudden—and happy, for Omegas everywhere—decision to run for Governor (and from there to the Democratic Presidential Nomination and, dare we hope for too much, the White House) in 1996 altered what may have been simply another generation of philanthropic 'nouveau riche' Barneses and Hubbards.

No, instead James "Bucky" Barnes became… something more (or less, in some eyes).

This is where we delve into what is very likely _un_known to you. I must admit, even now, after years of research and Freedom of Information Act requests (and more requests denied than fulfilled), and two Pullitzers under this investigative reporter's belt, that even I have found more holes than cloth in this story I will weave for you.

In 1999, straight out of high school, Bucky startled many with his decision to join the marines—though perhaps it should not have been so surprising for a young man to seek to be closer to the father he never knew. Whatever the reason, sentimental or not, his records become a touch hazy after that. It has always been hard to track the comings and goings of the military, especially in these years post Patriot Act, but for the two years pre-9/11, we at least know that he attended MIT—a very odd choice for a young commissioned officer, even at the dawn of the new millennium.

The last known information we have pre-9/11 is that Bucky was granted the rank of major, a move almost unprecedented during peacetime for one so young—and which has given much ammunition to many a 'Truther' as, and I quote, "definitive proof that the Towers were an inside job and that the administration planned it with the help of that Omega bitch's bastard cub."

Charming.

In the wake of his mother's declaration to run for candidacy—and now, finally, for office—the Pentagon released a select few files from Major Barnes' military record. As Governor Barnes swept closer and closer to the nomination, those files have been picked over in further detail. It only makes sense that we wish to get a true grasp of who is at the elbow of someone who could very well become the most powerful woman, let alone _the most powerful Omega_ in the world—and that still feels like a fever dream to us Omegas; one we don't wish to wake from.

And he _is_ by her side. He is fully and completely in Governor Barnes' corner, even though, if things had played out differently, he may not have been—whether that means he might be dead right now (hello to you too, NSA, don't tell me I wasn't already on your automatic watchlist) or if he might have remained in the field.

Because Bucky Barnes did not come home willingly, that is for sure, no matter how much he loves and supports his mother.

And yes, I said field.

Because everything points to the idea that Major Barnes was a CIA operative. And he may still be, for all we know, despite his 'official' honorable discharge. The holes in his record; the fast-tracking to officer status; his nuclear and mechanical engineering degrees from MIT, paid for by the Pentagon; the few 'postings' we know of which don't read quite right; even—perhaps especially—his closeness to the Stark heiress, Antonia Stark, who was recently revealed to be both an Omega and the armored _Iron Man_, shortly after she was kidnapped and tortured for three months in Afghanistan this past spring.

They may not have received their injuries at the same time, or in the same place—if Major Barnes' took place where and how it was detailed in his records; in a purportedly brief stint as a prisoner of Chechen rebels in Russia one year ago, even while his mother was gunning strongly for this very nomination—but there are many things that simply do not add up.

However, I am 95% sure that this is a _good_ thing.

The masses like mystery and intrigue, and the thought of the dashing Omega being a CIA officer working tirelessly towards the greater good, thwarting terrorists and preventing (or perhaps helping to instigate) war left and right, is something that appeals. All while being an Omega, a class in our society which has, for thousands of years, been seen as lesser.

And here is one—three, if one counts Toni Stark and Governor Barnes, whom we absolutely should... Here are _three_ Omegas who have already indelibly affected the world, even if one was not Iron Man, even if one does not become President, even if one is not a spy.

This (possible) spy, no matter if his face is known everywhere now, is one who might just help his mother—an undeniably _formidable_ woman and Omega in her own right, do not get me wrong—cinch one of the most powerful seats in the known universe.

To the benefit of us all.

_[Continued on Page A2]_

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**Note:** This article is from 2008, but the story itself will be taking place in 2012, post-Battle of Manhattan. We hope to see you soon! :D


	2. Chapter 2

"When you meet someone  
so different from yourself,  
in a good way,  
you don't even have to kiss  
to have fireworks go off."  
**― _Lisa Schroeder_**

**May 2012**

* * *

Everyone had told Winnie that she might've been able to win the Governorship on a campaign based on emotional honesty, but she would _never_ be able to win the Presidency the same way. They would call her emotional, her campaign advisers said; weak, childish, hormonal_,_ female, _Omegan_. 'They' would say she could, _should_ never be trusted with the nuclear launch codes, that she would never be trusted to lead a nation at war, that she couldn't possibly have the constitution for diplomatic engagements. Her advisers had wanted her to listen to them, to become unflappable and even _coy_, private, mostly reserved but determined.

Not herself.

No. She could never do that. It was the _epitome_ of the opposite of being emotionally honest. And most importantly: Winnifred Barnes fully believed in herself and her ability to change the world—or, at least, the cesspool that had kidnapped her beautiful country long ago. She could change that, at the very least, and maybe even North America as a whole if she could find ways to better their relations with Mexico, even Canada—the latter's Prime Minister, with his all-Omegan children, was soundly in her court on many issues, some of which she'd never even dreamed of, and was a positive example for all Alphas around the world.

There was so much to do. Too much to cover in eight years. She would _try_. But one step at a time. And, yes, she would need lots of allies.

Just not… these ones.

Instead of listening to her advisers, Winnifred fired every single one of them except for Potts and Romanov—who had both been just as insulted as Winnie had been at the suggestions. It seemed absurd that the team had _somehow_ forgotten how much the people of New York state loved exactly who and _what_ Winnifred was.

Perhaps they supported Omegan and female power… to a point.

But no, she would take it all the way. Alone if she had to.

Despite losing them—or, rather, _because _she kicked them to the curb—she'd won in a landslide, and then the real work began.

It was tough going, but she never once backed down from her plans to fix the festering wound within her beautiful country.

Instead of giving in like everyone expected her to in the face of so much vile filth and corruption, selfishness and greed, President Barnes shamed the United States into starting to come around to reason. Instead, President Barnes leaned into what she said were her individual strengths—emotions, feeling, reason, and Scottish stubbornness bred into the family for generations—and ran with it. Instead, President Barnes opened up to the nation, and let them know it was okay to _feel_. That it could be a _strength_. That they didn't have to lie and cheat their way to the system; that someone would be there to _help_ them, to help them up and help them heal and help them _become_.

President Barnes… Winnifred... was going to _kill her son_ for leaning into his own natural strengths:

Running straight into the fire, guns blazing and knife flashing.

He'd been in New York when the wormhole first appeared, and when he'd texted her to tell his own _mother_—in a TEXT!—that he was going to go fight the goddamn aliens that had started pouring out of the thing (she had an entire wall devoted to displaying the ugly creatures, the Chitauri, and not one of her video feeds had been able to find her son—not that she'd expected them to find a damn CIA operative dressed in black in the middle of an urban battlefield, _really now_—but she'd had to shove that aside and _focus_ on protecting her people—and the rest of the world, it seemed). She'd tried to call him. Immediately. But the phone lines and cell networks were already down by then.

She understood, she really did, and she just _knew_ that he'd be found near Toni one way or another, that the two of them would look out for each other as they had since boarding school (Bucky could give even Iron Man a run for her money with that beautiful arm she'd crafted him after… _After_), and that there was nothing she could do to change the nature of her son.

She was proud of him, really. So proud of him. She knew the risks, and yet she also knew he wouldn't want her to worry. So she didn't.

But Winnifred was still tempted to text him the very news which had so shocked her, hours after the invasion had been brought to its knees (she could practically _hear_ the Starkling complaining about the Phantom Menace-style deaths of the Chitauri, but she would take anything she could get, honestly). He'd texted her that he was going to war, basically. His own _mother_, and he'd texted her the words that could very well be his last—and so far were, because he hadn't found some way to let her know he was alive after everything was said and done (she'd had reports of him alive and well, but that _wasn't the same_, the impertinent child—though she thought it fondly).

So maybe… maybe she'd text him the news that he was now _betrothed_ to the very man he'd been reported fighting alongside: Captain America.

Then not reply for a whole day.

See how he liked it.

But no, no that wasn't fair. Not fair in the same way that _her son_, her Omega child, son of the President… was now legally betrothed to a man based on a Presidential Boon granted decades before her son was even born.

To a man who was supposed to be _dead_. Fucking Roosevelt family—it was supposed to be one of them. It was their plan, after all.

Fucking hell.

She needed to get to the bottom of this.

But first… first the Chitauri. First, her _people_.

She could be a mother later.

"Get me S.H.I.E.L.D.," she sighed tiredly, though there was steel in her voice.

Darcy nodded, but shot her a concerned glance (which promised drambuie and _Game of Thrones_ later) as she dialed up the number very few people had reason to call—though it seemed like she'd been talking to S.H.I.E.L.D. a hell of a lot more in the last month than she ever had in the last three years.

Her other advisers were running around, freaking out about how to _spin_ this alien attack towards her re-election campaign, but frankly, Winnie didn't give a shit. She'd love to stay in another four years to help even more people, but as long as Winnie could take care of the people who were under her care _now_… well, the future could take care of itself, and she'd help if—_when_—she got there.

For now…

Well, it's not like any campaign advisor had predicted an alien invasion. But there was one _un_official advisor who had...

"Director Fury, what in the _fuck_ happened? None of that tailored shit—you give it to me straight, with as much cussing as you want to throw in to make you honest. Now."

* * *

Steve stared at the contraption masquerading as a shower in befuddlement, clutching at the white towel he'd wrapped around his waist after he'd chucked the charred remains of his uniform.

The Battle had been over for only a couple of hours, and though most of the injuries he'd sustained were already healed, he was barely able to keep himself upright. His exhaustion ran bone-deep, and all he wanted to do, truthfully, was rinse himself off with hot water and collapse on the nearest horizontal surface to sleep for forty-eight hours.

He had not counted on the complicated contraption that was Toni's shower, though.

"Uh," he said eloquently. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain?" The A.I. replied serenely.

Steve stared at the many knobs and taps on the shower and sighed. "How do I turn this thing on? I just wanna take a shower."

"The large round tap in the middle to turn it on," JARVIS replied kindly. "The red tap to its left for hot water, the blue on its right for colder water."

"Right," Steve nodded, frowning a little as he stepped forward and reached for the tap. "Right."

Just as he managed to turn the water on, an almighty _crash_ sounded from the next room, and he could hear someone bellow, "_Stark! _Get your stupid self-sacrificing ass over here!"

There was another loud _crash_ and more shouting, and Steve moved without thinking, throwing the bathroom door open and sprinting into the living area, barely stopping to snatch his shield off the bedroom floor where he'd abandoned it.

"Toni!" he shouted, shield ready to throw at whatever villain had attacked them this time—and stopped, staring at the scene before him.

Toni stood at the kitchen island, still dressed in the now-filthy shirt she had been wearing under the suit during the battle, bottle of a vile green concoction that was probably another one of those smoothies she'd tried to foist on him earlier raised halfway to her lips and halfway across the room stood—stood—

Steve abruptly lowered his shield.

The man was tall and _built_, dressed in what appeared to be this world's version of combat gear, dark hair tied up in a messy bun on top of his head and he was—he was _beautiful_.

His eyes were a light, striking bluish grey and set in a face with high cheekbones and full, pink lips and a jawline so sharp Steve was half convinced it might cut glass. He was almost definitely as tall as Steve was, but broader and thicker, his muscles obvious even beneath the weighty, bulky tactical gear the man wore and Steve—

Steve faltered a little when he caught a whiff of what could only be… _Omega_.

The man before him looked _nothing_ like an Omega, nothing like the lithe, shorter frames that Steve had come to expect. Nothing like Toni, though even she was more muscular than her rare fellow Omegans.

But she didn't really do it for him, not like _this man_.

Even covered in ash and dust and blood, he looked like every wet dream Steve had ever had rolled into one… and he abruptly realized that he was wearing nothing but a towel that was doing very little to hide just how affected he was by the man that stood before him.

He wondered briefly if Toni would be terribly offended if he just dragged the mystery man back into the bedroom to have his way with him.

"Cap," Toni said, breaking Steve from his—admittedly entirely lustful—thoughts. "This is Bucky. He needs to learn how to knock, so _certain people_ won't panic and think we're under attack every time someone bursts in."

"Right," the man said in a softer, huskier voice than Steve had expected from him. "Sorry."

He eyed Steve rather blatantly, gaze trailing from Steve's exposed shoulders down his chest to the very edge of Steve's poor little towel. Steve could feel his eyes _burning _on his skin as they traveled down his body and he barely resisted the urge to _preen_ under the exceptionally attractive stranger's gaze.

"Didn't mean to interrupt your shower," the man continued, drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he grinned at Steve.

"Yeah?" Steve smirked back, setting down the shield, leaning it up against the wall and hooking a thumb in his towel, inching it down just a tad. "I can tell you're real' sorry."

Bucky grinned delightedly and Steve's cheeks flushed.

He hadn't tried to flirt with anyone this brazenly… _ever_. He probably wasn't doing a very good job of it, but it wasn't like he'd had much experience—there hadn't been a lot of people who'd wanted to go steady with an Alpha they might step on before he'd gotten the serum, and after…

After there hadn't been any need for flirting with Omegas and Betas and even _Alphas_ literally _throwing_ themselves at him wherever he went.

Bucky, who had taken Steve's momentary trip down memory lane as an opportunity to ogle him shamelessly, _swaggered_ forward, lower lip still caught between his teeth, stopping right in front of him, so close Steve could _feel_ the heat of the other man's skin radiating from him.

He gasped when the Omega reached out and grazed cold, silver fingertips—Steve hadn't even _noticed _the metal arm before now, so hyper-focused on the man's _everything else_—over the little trail of hair trailing down from his belly button into the folds of his towel. "I don't think you mind, do you, _Captain_?"

Steve shivered despite himself.

He may be an Alpha, but he'd always had a bit of a weakness for partners who could push him around a little, and he didn't doubt for a second that this Omega would be more than capable—and quite willing, too, it looked like.

"No," he breathed. "I don't think I mind at all."

He dropped his gaze to Bucky's lips and caught himself subconsciously swaying forward a little, drawn in by the man's _delicious_ scent and inviting smile and eager—downright bold—touch.

"Good," Bucky _purred_, leaning in so close that Steve could feel his breath on his own lips—

"You guys realize I'm still in the room, right?" Toni interrupted them suddenly, mischievously, and Steve jerked away from Bucky hastily, nearly tripping backwards over his shield.

Bucky, too, moved back in a jerky, uncoordinated movement, eyes wide and as shocked as Steve's own had to be. He'd never been this affected by an Omega before, and he wasn't sure what to make of it—and judging by his expression, neither did Bucky.

"Right," Steve said. "Of course, you're—yeah—" He gestured towards the bedroom and bathroom in a clumsy gesture. "I should—I'm gonna—okay."

He turned on his heel and fled into the bathroom, shutting the door slightly harder than probably entirely necessary and leaned back against it, letting his head fall back against the door with a quiet _thunk_.

"Good job, Rogers," he told himself reproachfully. "Made a fool of yourself, probably insulted Toni's friend—in front of Stark herself." He sighed. "She's never gonna let this go."

"Probably not, Captain," JARVIS intoned helpfully.

Steve thunked his head back against the door again. "Thanks, JARVIS," he sighed.

"You're welcome," JARVIS said cheerfully.

* * *

After he had tried and failed to drown himself in Toni's shower and had squeezed himself into the clothes Toni had insisted he wear because "You don't have to _dress_ like an actual grandpa, Rogers," he tentatively ventured back out into the living area.

He wasn't sure if he hoped that Bucky was still there, or hoped that he wasn't.

He still didn't understand why he'd reacted so strongly to the other man. It wasn't like he'd never met any other attractive Omegas—he'd worked closely with Peggy Carter for over two years, and that woman flirted more brazenly than anyone Steve'd ever met, for Christ's sake.

"Toni?" he queried cautiously, venturing further into the room when he didn't see her or Bucky immediately.

"Couch," she called back, and he rounded the corner to find her sprawled out on her back on the couch, her head on Pepper Potts' lap as the other woman dragged her fingers through Toni's messy curls. Bucky, to Steve's simultaneous delight and despair, sat cross-legged on the other couch, tapping on his phone with an expression of great consternation.

"Miss Potts," Steve greeted the powerful Beta politely, casting around for somewhere to sit that wasn't directly beside the Omega who had already made him lose his head once.

"Steve," Pepper smiled brightly at him. "It's nice to see you again. I'm glad you're okay. We were worried in D.C."

"And me you." Steve nodded even as he conceded defeat and took a seat beside Bucky. The other man looked at him briefly and shot him a tight smile, his cheeks oddly flushed before he glared back down at his phone.

There was a brief, slightly awkward silence before Pepper spoke up again. "So, Steve, I don't know if you've been introduced, this is—"

"Oh, they've _met_," Toni cackled from her spot in Pepper's lap. "Right, Barnes?"

Steve's cheeks flushed and he shifted a little, noticing that Bucky also looked profoundly uncomfortable, before the name Toni had called Bucky by fully registered. "Wait," he said, shaking his head a little as he looked between Toni and Bucky. "Barnes as in…"

"As in President Barnes?" Bucky said, looking up at Steve with a forced, wry smile. "Yep. James Buchanan Barnes, at your service." He looked down at his phone before he could catch Steve's gobsmacked reaction, and sighed again. "Hope you're ready to meet the president, Rogers. You're invited for dinner at the White House. Tonight."

Steve blinked.

Oh.

Shit.

* * *

**Note: **Um, hellooooo? Could Annaelle write the flirting script for my life? Holy shit. *fans face* Kudos to her for the bulk of the amazing Steve PoV. Holy cow, woman. Did we suddenly up the rating for this fic, lady? What do you think? Should we?

Next chapter... what will Juulna and Annaelle cook up for our boys' Very Important Dinner? I cannot confirm nor deny that we are or are not open to suggestions, especially from the lovely and hard-working kocuria. *blows kiss* Can't wait to see how the future MIL of C.A. and President of the U.S.A. will treat little Steve Rogers. Oh man... *happy cackle*

Thank you, everyone, for reading and commenting! Love from both myself (Juulna) and Annaelle! Annaelle has a 'new' Stucky fic about to be posted, Dancing in the Rain, so keep your eyes peeled for that! And Juulna has finally kicked down some roadblocks for Hanging From a Cross of Iron, so she shouuuuuld have something up within the next, oh, month? :P (This whole thing has thrown everyone off our stride, even us already-shut-ins, but the two of us are at least staying happy! And I hope you are too!)

Stay safe, stay inside, stay sane. Love! 3


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: **Thanks for reading and stay safe, everyone! This chapter is written mostly by my co-writer for this fic, Annaelle/Cuthian. She's amazing. We hope you like it, and look forward to seeing you next chapter!

* * *

Since his honorable discharge, Bucky had attended numerous social functions and countless formal dinners with his mother, playing the part of the dutiful, charming, handsome son gladly and easily, because it was one of the few things he still knew how to do without screaming.

His mother disliked the mask he wore at such public functions, and the longer Bucky was out of active service, the more he grew to dislike it as well.

He didn't tend to hide behind it so much anymore—the only occasions he found need to metaphorically pull it out and dust it off for was when he was faced with particularly misogynistic senators, who liked to imply he had slept his way to his rank, or that his mother was incapable of being a good leader because she was too emotional , as all Omegas were wont to be.

It was nothing but Alpha-centric propaganda bullshit that his mother had disproved about a hundred times over since she'd been in office, but it bothered him to hear it nonetheless.

So, when his mother informed him that he was expected to attend a formal family dinner and to bring along Captain Rogers and Toni, he'd been prepared for… for quite a lot. He had not, however, been prepared for this. He stared up at his mother, who was the only one at the table who hadn't yet taken a seat, mouth agape. "You're kidding ," he said decisively. "Mom, you have to—you're joking , right?"

Toni, who sat next to him, had her hands clapped over her mouth, although Bucky sincerely doubted it was to hide revulsion—knowing her, it'd be more likely she was poorly attempting to stifle her glee.

He scowled at her before turning to the actual source of his ire.

Captain Rogers sat in the seat across from him, looking equally gobsmacked, blue eyes wide and a little panicked, those pink, plush lips Bucky had been unable to keep his eyes off earlier parted a little as he stared at Bucky's mom.

"Oh, no," his mom heaved a heavy sigh and sank down into her seat. "I promise this is very much not a joke, Bucky. I've had several experts go over every legal precedent in the last two centuries—it's a binding contract. There haven't been many occasions for a Presidential Boon, but on those that it was granted, both parties were legally obligated to follow through."

Across from Bucky, Rogers looked like he was going through a minor meltdown, and if Bucky wasn't so damned pissed off at him, he might find the look on Rogers' face amusing.

"That stuff was real ?" Rogers choked, and Toni lost it , dropping her head onto the table with a thump , choking on her laughter, and Bucky's mom rolled her eyes.

Bucky made an extremely childish face at Toni, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, because he may be thirty-one, but he reserved the right to behave as childishly as he liked when he was literally being told he had to marry a man he'd met once —although it had been a memorable meeting, to say the least—because of some arbitrary rule they'd done away with decades ago.

Rogers, on the other hand, looked about ready to cry into the glass of whiskey someone had pushed into his hand. "But it—they can't—I thought the future was supposed to be more civilized," Rogers sputtered, looking between the three of them with a flabbergasted expression.

"It is ," Bucky snarled. "We don't generally go around handing out presidential sons and daughters to whichever poor schmuck happens to save some pasty-ass general from his own stupidity."

Rogers stared at him, openmouthed. "I didn't—it wasn't—I never thought—"

Bucky's mom took pity on him, patting his hand as Bucky mutinously stabbed at a potato with his fork, stuffing it in his mouth to keep from saying anything else, because Rogers already looked like he was gonna cry, and Bucky was not in the mood, no matter how fucking pretty the Alpha was.

"Bucky, settle down," his mother said sternly. "Captain, I'm sure you understand this is a shock for all of us. Could you t—"

"For you?" Rogers exclaimed, just a tad hysterically. "I'm sorry, I didn't exactly crash the Valkyrie expecting to wake up seventy years into the future where everyone I knew is dead and I had to fight aliens and have to marry some male Omega I'd met once !"

Rogers looked a little shocked by his own outburst, and Bucky's own anger evaporated on the spot. The Captain sagged in his seat and looked vaguely nauseated—Bucky knew the fucking feeling.

"Mom," he said slowly, not looking away from Rogers—God, his future husband —making sure to speak in a tone that brokered no argument. "Can you and Toni give us a moment?"

"Sweetheart," his mother started, and Bucky reluctantly looked away from the Captain, staring down his mother without hesitation. He'd underestimated how uncomfortable and traumatized the man sitting across from him was, and he felt like a heel for missing it. He'd struggled with PTSD for years himself—still did—and he should've known that the man in front of him was too.

Bucky's mom gave him a Look , before she heaved a sigh and nodded. "Alright. Toni, let's see how you can improve the security and scare the hell out of my staff."

Toni didn't say anything, but her expression as she stood and followed his mother out of the dining room spoke volumes . They hadn't known each other for as long as they had without developing a way to communicate without having to say anything out loud—he knew she was worried about him.

He also knew that wasn't necessary.

He could handle Cap.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, softly, once his mother and Toni were gone, looking at him directly. "I'm sorry, this can't be easy for you either." He leaned across the table, careful not to accidentally plant his elbow in one of the serving dishes, and put his hand on the table next to Cap's. Carefully, he moved his pinkie so that it pressed against the Alpha's just so, and made sure to keep his scent calm and relaxed.

Cap looked up at him with those blue, blue eyes that had made Bucky lose his head a little when they'd first met and smiled a tiny, shaky smile.

"What did you know, about the Presidential Boon?" he asked calmly, slowly pulling away from the Alpha, sinking back down into his own seat. The tiny patch of skin he'd had pressed against Cap's tingled, almost like his own skin protested at the distance between them, and Bucky very deliberately refused to think about that.

"Nothing, really," Rogers said, shrugging helplessly. "They were always insisting on giving me these awards and prizes and honors—I was just trying to fight for my country. I wasn't even in the States when it was granted, Philips told me about it afterwards, but we were closing in on Hydra, and I didn't—I didn't think about it."

Bucky leaned back in his chair and sighed.

He couldn't blame the other man. When he had been overseas, the only thing on his mind had been staying alive and keeping his unit alive too. Rogers had been fighting to protect everything and everyone he loved—because if he didn't, the bad guys would get to them.

Now, it was like… it was like the enemy was nebulous, changing from day to day, hard to pin down… or not even there. Just an enemy created out of half truths and lies by politicians desperate to hold onto power. It was hard to fight ideology, but at least back then, during Steve's years in service, there had been a face to put to the enemy. The true face, at that. Kill the heart of the movement, and the body would collapse; such was the force of that war. Now, there were too many heads, too many hearts, and too many people to take their place if they were taken down.

It was a whole other kind of war, and Bucky wasn't sure that he could relate to the Captain as much as the man wished he could. But Bucky would… he would try. At least now, compared to his early days in the marines, he had seen more, done more, and had a better grasp on the big picture. Being the son of the president of "the Free World" had given him access to much more than he'd ever dreamed of—working for the CIA had only expanded his view… and narrowed it in some other places, he did have to admit.

No matter what, though, he was still a soldier at heart. Still the younger, skinnier version of him who'd first gone off to training and school, then to war to avenge his country. That younger, skinnier version of him recognized the younger, skinnier version of Rogers who had been thrust like a missile into the depths of the biggest war the world had ever seen.

It wasn't like that anymore, but that didn't need to matter. There were still parts of him who could empathize with parts of this man, this Alpha, in front of him.

"I guess I can't blame you for that," he finally said, realizing he'd been silent for too long. "God knows I had bigger things on my mind than medals and presidential boons while I was deployed too."

Rogers looked up again, eyes a little wider. "You served too?"

Bucky smiled a little. "Yeah. Enlisted straight out of high school. I only got out a few years ago, after…" He shrugged his metal shoulder and offered Steve a comforting smile when the other man looked stricken. "We got hit. I tried to pull the others out, but…" He looked away and shook his head, exhaling shakily, still not quite able to handle the guilt that waited for him in that thought, despite Toni telling him there was nothing to forgive whatsoever.

"I'm so sorry," Rogers exhaled, leaning forward to press their fingers together again.

Bucky smiled wryly and turned his hand over, letting their fingers slot together. "It's not your fault," he said quietly, sadly.

Rogers very nearly pouted and replied, "But this is. I should've—"

Bucky tightened his fingers around Rogers' and shook their joined hands a little. "No, it's not. The only person to blame for all of this is the fucking asshole who thought it was okay to give away an Omega like a fucking prize."

"I think that's President Asshole for you," Rogers said with a watery smile, and Bucky couldn't help but grin too. There was the sassy man he'd been waiting for—the straight up hottie he'd run out of his shower and who had flirted with him shamelessly .

That man had been missing since the moment Toni had interrupted them, and Bucky kind of wanted to get back to that moment, back to being so caught up by an Alpha that he forgot everything and everyone around him. He hadn't been able to really connect like that with anyone since he'd gotten back—not for a lack of trying though.

Unfortunately, he didn't exactly look like people expected an Omega to look like, even today.

It did not seem to bother Rogers one bit, though.

On the contrary.

Maybe this whole Boon thing could be good after all, because if he were going to marry—he wasn't opposed , in fact he'd always wanted to, but he just hadn't thought it would be anytime soon—then oh man , Captain America was a fantastic choice.

Teenaged Bucky had had a massive crush on the Alpha—as had most of the Omega population of the U.S. and allies—and he couldn't say he wasn't deeply appreciative of the man's perfectly engineered physique now that he had seen it in real life as well.

Up close.

"You know if," Rogers began, hesitating a little. "If we're supposed to… get married, and everything. You could probably call me Steve."

"Steve," Bucky grinned. "Well, nice to meet you, Steve. I'm Bucky. Your future husband."

Steve laughed, just a tad hysterically, and shook his head. "You're gonna drive me crazy," he chuckled. "Aren't you?"

Bucky smirked. "Yeah. But think of the fun we'll have."


End file.
